


I Am the One

by OlliPrry



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Development, F/M, Jealous Solas, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlliPrry/pseuds/OlliPrry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan wasn't always the hero of the story.<br/>It was something that she had to learn along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once we Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumps back to when Lavellan wakes up in Haven, leading up to the dock. Chapter is unintentionally long. 
> 
> Please feel free to send me corrections as far as grammar and word choice. It's been a long time since I've written fiction and I'm using this as a primer to get back into it.

Before her vallaslin but when she still had her baby teeth, she fell to an affliction that pulled her into a fever sleep for three days.

She was thrown into new nightmares without resolving the last, time extended into what felt like years, nothing or everything made too much painful sense, everything was surreal or nothing was save for few eerie details. When the fever departed and  
she awoke, the aravel was drenched in the essence of elfroot and spindleweed. The keeper insisted on her drinking batch after batch of royal elfroot tea sweetened with honey. Over tea, tears rolled down her round cheeks as she recounted her nightmares to the keeper. 

She had a dream about a shepherd leading humans in a victory against unknown terrors from different worlds. In another, there was a handy man clad in thick armor who struggled alone against a sickness which infected others and transformed them into horrific monsters. With each retelling, the keeper used each dream as a story of guidance or a lesson for her. However when she recounted the most vivid of what she experienced, the keeper grew quiet.

There was a forest in the valley of a snow capped mountain, just as any other they may have encountered in their travels. As she searched for game she crossed the bloodied imprints of a wolf’s stride contrasted by the crisp snowfall. The trail led to a cave where she found the sleeping creature to be far larger than any wolf she had encountered, encompassing the cave with shimmery white fur. She drew closer to the animal, nearly mesmerized by the splendor and power. Just as she reached to touch the brilliant coat of the wolf, he woke with a start. Tendrils of void scooped her up and yanked her to be face to face with the beast, who eyed her intensely, suddenly dotted with a multitude of glistening ruby colored eyes. The silence that fell between them was stagnant and eerie. It was only when she wailed to the creators to protect her that he bared a bloodstained snarl.

As she peered into the open maw of the wolf, fear diminished and was replaced with blind wonderment. The creature held the entire night sky in his jaws, a spray of stars as bright as the sun clustering towards his tongue and she could spy the tails of flying comets between teeth. The malcontent in the wolf’s eyes had left but was now sorrow. The beast bit down, shredding through muscle, breaking bone and tearing her arm away from the socket. She screamed in abysmal pain and azure tears dripped from her chin to the ground of the cave, leaving circles of luminescent green upon the earth.

She attempted to push the creature away when a blast of green magic burst from her hand and crashed upon the wolf’s head, leaving a gash above it’s left brow. The creature howled in a lost language that reminded her of home. With the distraction she fled and never glanced back, knowing the wolf was still watching her.

There was unease while she waited for a response from the keeper, perhaps sage wisdom or a laugh but was only held with a stoic look and the ache of unspoken words. The keeper broke the stare first and stood to ask the child if she had any idea how she became sick. It was learned that she had foolishly accepted blankets from shemlen on their travels, blankets that held spreadable disease. The blankets were burned, she was chided on accepting things from strangers especially shemlen, but the dream was never mentioned again and left an unresolved feeling in Lavellan’s chest. 

She forgot about the whole experience up until she awoke now to an unfamiliar ceiling and felt as though she were swimming in the scent of elfroot and spindleweed once more. The comfort of familiarity enveloped her until the images of the conclave burning down crept behind her eyes. Although she had not eaten in a while, she retched in the nearest vessel, an unfortunate vase now the container for her bile and spit.

The bang of a object falling garnered her attention in between heaves and allowed Lavellan to focus attention elsewhere. Immediate guilt and concern filled her when she saw the poor elven child that must have slipped into the room, this was not a good way to introduce herself. Before Lavellan could start apologizing profusely, the child had beaten her to it; going as far as getting on the ground to bow. The gesture made her feel pity for the child and she pondered if they had to do this anytime a mistake was made. The conversation was brief and within moments the child left running to give someone the news that she was awake.

She sat in confusion before her thoughts caused a churn of bile to sour her throat and she recoiled in disgust at the notion that she had been the sole survivor of this event. It was the scalding of her flesh that ripped her away from internal dialogue and instead to her cursed hand, now ablaze in a green light. She concentrated on breathing through her nose in an even pace. She imagined holding all of her tension in the marked hand, that it was flaring up because of her current stress. Gradually she envisioned gripping her hand shut and the trauma minimizing in her palm, then finally the light flickering before disappearing all together upon the fist closing. She was pleased when her reality reflected her imagination.

With shaking knees, she willed herself to stand and stagger towards the door. She shielded her eyes to the blinding sun before tentatively hedging out of the house. A swirl of forgotten comfort pulsed in her chest over the warmth she felt from the sunlight, it was the only pleasant sensation she felt as she meandered forward. The muscles in her legs were sluggish to act, there was no position she could rest her arms that would give her ease from ache and there was a dull throbbing behind her forest green eyes. It took a couple of paces in silence to register that something was amiss. Shemlens had stopped their small village life in preference to watching her with intrigue. Children ceased chasing eachother instead seeking their mother’s hand, idle chatter turned into hushed whispers, a man halted chopping wood to wipe the sweat from his brow and gawk at the elf. She bit her bottom lip as she strayed onward, the crowd parting around her and leaving an echo of fervent whispers from the people as she passed. 

It was then she heard the title “Herald of Andraste”, at least that’s what she thought they were calling her. There was a certain wrongness that sat against her ribs at being given the title and she nearly broke her gait to correct the villager. It conjured the heroic portrait a hulking shemlen, wavy blonde tresses flowing against the wind as he held the chantry flag, bare chested and muscles glistening with a harem of adoring women attaching themselves to him. She was not this image. She was not their Herald. She couldn’t even save anyone at the conclave, she snapped at herself. She concluded the only valid solution to this predicament was for her to flee as soon as she was able, she did not want to get wrapped up in this shemlen trouble. She entered the chantry categorizing on her fingers what she would need for her trip back to the free marches, oblivious to the arguing that resonated in the hallowed walls. It was only after she had entered the final chamber that she was jolted out of her scheming.

Petty shemlen infighting greeted her and a fleeting worry was that they were all like this when faced with problems. The priest demanded that she be chained and put on trial. Her lips curled in a smirk as she was about to make a joke about at least taking her out on a date first. The motivation for the jest was lost once Cassandra began to speak and the gravity of the situation, the conclave weighed heavily on the elf’s shoulders once more. She felt panic rise up in her fingers first, she needed out. She had done all that she could, she told them. She hoped that would flow more easily into her having nothing else she could contribute and be able to leave (she hoped by sundown so she could at least start the trip back home). The priest was skeptical still of her motives and made no deal to hide it. 

She idled impatiently besides the bickering shemlen, just waiting for when she could slip away until Cassandra suggested that she had been sent by their maker for this very reason. Lavellan sputtered and her brows clenched in annoyance of this all. She was not the “chosen one”, she was a Dalish elf. Upon telling Cassandra this, the woman’s brows pinched just enough for Lavellan to notice. Despite her distaste of Cassandra suggesting she was cast in the light of their maker, she had to give the woman credit for standing strong in her faith and authority.

The priest stomped out of the room, leaving Lavellan with questions. What was the inquisition of old, was this the start of a holy war and what would happen if she refused? Questions were more populous in her mind now than numbers she could count to, and she could count pretty high. She could not avoid that this had changed her, possibly for forever but it was all so strange and she didn’t know what she could do that would even remotely suffice for the death of so many. Her skin shivered with heat, sweat was slick against her back, she felt blood against her ears once more, and the air in the room to have become not enough for her lungs. Without much thought, she shook hands with Cassandra and made a dash to the outside where she promptly up chucked in the bushes off to the side of the holy building. The rest of the day was a blur of introductions and handshakes before she was able to wander back to her borrowed one room house. She collapsed in the bed without much regard for the breach in the sky.

There was a thump In the back of her eye that startled her awake, causing her to sit up right in the bed. Splitting pain of a migraine reverberated from her eye down to her spine, making her clutch her head as she winced. The rattling continued, but she found it to be originating from the door rather than the back of her skull. Her eyesight blurred as she perched herself on the side of the bed, still holding a hand to her head and she concluded that she could not safely stand up at the moment. “It’s.. open.” She murmured wearily to the unknown person knocking. When she observed the door swing open, she peered past to the outside world and discovered the sky had been painted in pastels of dark purple and pink with highlights of orange on the heads of clouds. Had she not felt her brain imploding, she might have been interested in an after dinner stroll to overlook the beauty of the sky.

“Lethallan I..” A pause was held before the male continued, “Oh, it’s rather dark in here, may I light some candles for you?” She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of her brain from the dissolving process it was surely going through, but she could swear there was a hint of amusement in his voice. The only response he received was a low groan of approval as she turned back into bed, facing the wall and covering her eyes. She attempted to focus away from the agony in her head and instead to the timbre of his voice, his accent peculiar for the region and it reminded her of her clan. He held his vowels tenderly and punctuated his words with purpose, all together there was a cadence in his voice that relaxed her. “There now, candles are going and the hearth has been started.” He mused, picking up a chair and setting it down next to the bed. “I am here to tend to you, whenever you are ready.” He announced, fixing a cup of tea for Lavellan.

She rose once more and waited at the side of her bed, one hand now shielding her eyes from the light now in the cabin. He offered her the mug of tea before fixing himself a cup of hot water. She didn’t dare to smell what she was drinking, finding that every sense caused a whack in the back of her skull. But as she gulped the hot tea, she slowed in realization of it being elfroot sweetened with honey. She felt heat spread from her stomach to her ribs and seep to the rest of her body from there. She held the mug close to her heart, she wasn’t sure if it was the familiarity of it or becoming more hydrated or the healing properties of the drink, but the tension behind her eyes began to fade.

“How’re you feeling?” Lavellan took a moment to consider the question, as it was rife with answers and all with different intentions but all seeming to fit exactly how she felt. Instead she resorted to a shrug of her shoulders and a heavy sigh, which best fit the general idea of all answers. “A wise response to such a broad question.” The fellow elf’s voice held a tender tone and she didn’t need to look to see that he was entertained. “You’ve been taking care of me, ma serannas lethallin.” Her gratitude sincere as she wasn’t sure if she could trust anyone else to take care of her, but put more trust in the fellow elf than most. A chuckle escaped his pale lips as he sat in the chair across from her, crossing his legs and cupping his mug of hot water, “Lethallin? I haven’t been called that in ages.” As she took another sip of the tea, her stomach growled in pleasure at something finally within it’s walls. “Would you prefer I call you Hahren?” There was a back bite of unanticipated playfulness in her tone that even surprised herself. A grin ghosted across the elf’s face and he suppressed a chortle in his chest. “It doesn’t much matter to me, or Solas would be equally fine.” 

A smile blossomed from the corner of her mouth before it radiated across all her features, emerald eyes wrinkled in mirth, her cheeks lightly rose tinted and dashed with freckles, lips pastel pink against her teeth, gold-dosed-in-wine colored hair braided into a single line which cascaded down her shoulder to lay in a half moon around her. The way the firelight washed over her skin gave the filter of an oil painting like those he had seen in his travels. She could be painted a thousand times over but none would truly capture the presence of her spirit and beauty adequately. The room was suddenly smaller as he felt himself entranced to her but halted when his eyes glanced on her vallaslin. Magic stirred within his finger tips as he considered the lines of Mythal and he felt his skin prickle as he tied it to Lavellan, conflict swelled inside him before he perished his feelings.

He took a swallow of hot water before continuing and from the dread in her stomach she could sense his next comments, “And what should I refer to you as, ‘Herald of Andraste’?” She grumbled in response, before passing a hand over her brows and to pinch the bridge of her nose in exhaustion. The peace deflating with being reminded of this whole mess. “Please, no. Anything but that.” She exhaled a breath of air before looking to the hearth, sour thoughts brewing within her skull. “Lavellan works for a name. And..” Her eyes met back to the greyed blue, “Don’t you feel that it’s.. .. Disrespectful to their own god that they are calling me such?” The matched gaze broke as she peered down into the mug of tea she was clutching with both hands. Solas considered the thought, letting a gulp of hot water rinse his mouth before speaking with careful words. “I believe that they are afraid, they cling to their god in fear, grasping at anything that might help and dubbing it as something sent to them by their maker.” She envied the confidence he spoke with, wishing she could come to conclusions as firmly. “I wasn’t sent by anyone other than my keeper..” her words diffused as she held her head in her hands, balancing the mug of tea between her calves. She thought of her clan, the hunters who would stare hungrily towards her with humor on their lips and lust in their glances, to the keeper who would pull her aside for an impromptu lesson on herbs and the verbiage difference in elven, to her apprentices who would stare in disbelief at the keeper for sharing knowledge to anyone else other than her mages in training, to her friends she had since childhood and their misadventures growing up. She couldn’t help but also sulk on the idea that those from the conclave would never be able to return to their families or friends. Her heart ached for them and drinking elfroot tea would not resolve that pain.

“Fenedhis.. Fenedhis..” She chanted, barely above a whisper in her palms before growing louder. She thought back to wandering through the forest searching for fruit as a child when she came across a shemlen couple wrestling on the ground, the man appeared to be winning. Just as she was about to jump in to rescue the woman, she heard a quivering cry of pleasure erupt from the woman’s throat. It then occurred to her, face set ablaze with mortification, that she was witnessing a very intimate moment and needed to leave. That was the first time she had heard the shemlen word “fuck” and she repeated it now in frustration.

“Fuck.. fuck fuck!!” The mug clattered and tea spilled out in a wave across the floor as she stood up. Both elves worked to clean the mess but Lavellan found her mind swirling again and drew away. Solas hesitated from pressing a towel to the damp floor long enough to witness the woman sprint out the door into the night. Without much concern for the remaining mess, he raced to the threshold and called out for her, but was met with silence among the twinkle of the starlight above.


	2. Rise

“The keeper always chided me when I got caught in the act,” Her gaze extended past the shadow of the mountains, into the expanses of nostalgia. She angled her head towards Cassandra, a overzealous scowl now played on her lips, paired with scrunched up brows. “‘At this rate you’ll earn Fen’Harel’s marks on you, da’len’.” While she mimicked the nasally roll of the keeper, the breeze shifted and she could smell the flavor of the embers from camp.

The bitter sting of snow was tenacious from the dock of the frozen lake, but she was drawn to the brilliance of the moon reflected upon it. She also found the ice pooling in her fingers was a fantastic method to ground herself into reality. 

She was struck with the craving for normalcy of clan life. The mindlessness of peeling vegetables in a circle around the fire, of overhearing the sparrow’s delicate morning song when she combed the lush grasp of nature for fruits, of being a spectator once more to the stories that the hahren would weave to the children about their creators.

Serrated luminescence of sapling green sliced through peace and she was back in the destruction at the conclave. The blackened stench of overcooked flesh coated the inside of her nose, the deafening of silence rang while she could only sparse together the rush of blood behind her ears, followed by the excruciating sensation of the muscles in her petite hand splitting then snapping apart in their goal to anchor the mark into her.

A breath snagged in her lungs, her composure faltering as she stumbled over her memories still so vivid. A shift of weight caused boards of the dock to groan under Cassandra. The noise startled the elf, violently dragging her ashore from drowning in her mind’s eye. Her blighted hand throbbed and sparked in recognition. She pursed her lips as she peered down at it, only feeling relief when she settled it’s mate overtop it. She was denying it reality, she hoped for forever.

It was enough time for the Herald to clear her throat, forcing the stagnate air to release tension from her. She made an attempt to smooth the edge of her tone. “I eventually grew up and it wasn’t much of a problem after that,”. A moment of tenderness ghosted across her features. “Well, I guess I just got better about hiding my mischief.” She amended, voice dipped low into warmth as she recalled.

“You can not go back to how things were..” The words were round in Cassandra’s mouth and exhaled with an unusual softness towards the elf. Lavellan could feel the pierce, the shatter as it spread and formed into a lump in the back of her throat. She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. Her fingers and toes buzzed as they cried in numbness, she was beyond the point of shivering and she could feel the pull of emptiness that emanated from her stomach. The mark hummed in her palm, discharging a flash of emerald that glowed against the pillowy snow that now collected at her feet.

“But how to I go forward from this?” Strangled cry escaped from the elf’s quivering mouth, of which she immediately regretted. Once the words had been let go, it poured out. Unrelenting, a dam burst and aggressive guilt flowed like a unending river. 

She cursed in elven before resorting to screaming until her throat went raw and hoarse. She didn’t ask for this, she wasn’t their fabled Herald and she couldn’t save anyone at the conclave. Her tears solidified on her cheeks. She mourned the lives lost around her, for this divine who strived towards unity, for herself at the normalcy that had now vanished before her. She collapsed breathless to the dock underneath her. Cassandra managed to predict this and was able to catch her arm, slowing her descent. Then silence engulfed them, they both peered outward over the icy water.

The tide of raw feelings receded back into the depths, quelled for the time being. A comfortable warm emptiness occupied her chest as she considered how drained she was. She felt the apprehension slip while looking at the palm of her cursed hand, and resolve crystallize in it’s place. With eyes now sealed she counted heartbeats before she spoke again, brushing hair away from her mouth.

“Thank you Cassandra..” She muttered, and although Cassandra had not done much, the woman had helped exactly how Lavellan needed.

The old wound of misery resounded in his chest as he witnessed the storm of emotion that Lavellan was tossed into. Bloodshed from the circle tower forever maimed his view of magic and even mages, even ten years later he still coped with the aftershocks of it. A choking cry from disembodied mages would wake him from slumber, only to be received by the apparition of an abomination pressing an attack into him. Unfocused eyes would catch the images of body parts in place of the items they actually were, always forcing a second glance on his part (either to confirm his fears or vanquish the thought). The creeping of familiarity from a stranger’s face would strike a memory of a mage from the circle, a mage that was likely dead now. He endured, as would she. 

From his distance, he observed the seeker offer a hand to Lavellan before helping her stand. His muscles relaxed in relief that the situation appeared to be resolved. They approached with Lavellan at the lead, and he saw someone different than who he had been introduced to. Not the Herald she had been dubbed. He felt his throat tighten as he caught a real view of her. 

Her hair matched the intensity of the burning sun and was pulled into one intricate braid that when swept forward extended past her knees. Her brows were thick and dramatic. Expression lines in her forehead were pronounced upon inspection, even behind the Dalish mark she held. He knew the mark honored their protector Mythal and had resemblance to a light tree budding from the bridge of the nose branching quickly upward and encircling below her eyes in symmetric beauty. 

She had eyes that mirrored the leafy grass of fields he had played in as a boy in his hometown. Her nose curved down slightly towards the tip before rounding off and it looked as though the arch of her nose had been broken at some point, leaving a bump as reminder. Freckles gracefully dotted her cheekbones like stars in the sky. She had the start of laugh lines cupping the sides of her mouth and to know that she had seen joy made him feel at ease with the task at hand. He noted that her bottom lip was fuller than the top, but both were pale, save for a crease of blood in the middle. Her frame was light as he had grown accustom to all elves to be, but her legs appeared powerful and her arms maintained a bar of muscle that surely assured her strength in a fight. 

His cataloging of her was interrupted when they locked eyes, hers almost glowing in contrast of the snow around them and the magnificence of the moon. The angle of the moon cast shimmers of light upon her braid, her lips were plump and bright coral from the minor blood she had drawn earlier and her brows high with open curiosity to him. His heart sped up. He could not fathom words to describe how radiant he found her to be as a woman and not their savior. 

She passed him without a word. Cassandra following from behind her only pausing to lay a strong hand on Cullen’s shoulder and give a grip of reassurance before pulling away to follow the elf. He turned to face Haven, resting a palm against the pommel of his sword to steady himself and focus on calming his heart down. Not far from the entrance he saw Solas gripping his staff, azure flames casting a dull glow in his presence. Cullen with curious eyes studied the apostate but couldn’t determine intent before the mage turned and joined Lavellan into the glowing village.


	3. Empress of Fire

She offered the handle of her dagger, the blade tickled the wrinkles in her hand and she shivered. “Please Solas..” the inflection of request was gentle and marked with hope. Solas lifted a skeptical eyebrow and caught her verdant eyes before accepting the knife. “Is this a clan custom?” There was a dusting of indignation while he tested the weight of the weapon. The Dalish mangled the ideals of ancient elves, following practices and traditions that were akin to a child reenacting a scene from play without seeing it. Lavellan contended that they were trying the best with the ruin of the crumbling elven empire, she was proud of what they had retained from their culture and invited him to teach them if he knew anything better. They had squabbled like this for the better half of the morning, waking sleeping birds while on a morning walk around the frozen lake.

She scanned Solas’s eyes to uncover light signs of contempt while her fingers sought the tail of her braid. A huff escaped from her mouth, she was dreading where this conversation would lead. “It’s my keepers tradition.” She declared tersely before sending him an aloof glance and unwinding the locks of her tresses. Solas exhaled through his nose, resting the dagger across his lap to reach between them to pet her hart; focusing on the bridge of the creature before sliding up to the root of antlers. The animal snorted, casting Solas’s chest in phlegm before continuing to graze with disinterest. Lavellan bit her lip to keep from cackling out loud to his misfortune while he sat paralyzed in disgust. After accepting the situation, he stood up and retrieved a dirty hand towel from inside the stables to wipe the mess away. His face held mild irritation as he returned to his seat and seized the dagger that dropped moments before. “You don’t have to do this, Lethallin.” 

He echoed his fears upon her, that this was a rash choice made in the throes of change and he also couldn’t support the rational of a infantile group of elves’s attempts at recreating paintings of old. She peered onward through a curtain of burnt orange colored hair, hiding the scowl that now skewed across her face. “I know.” The puff of breath caused a billow of waves to run through her hair. “Then why? It’s foolish of you to carry this tradition. It must have taken you years to grow your hair --” a frustrated growl from behind the veil of hair cut him short. “Delltash Hahren!” Haphazardly she swooped a open hand around the curtain of hair before pulling it back and revealing her face, with her other hand she snatched the dagger from Solas. Her brows were creased with anger, her eyes ignited and her face blushing from exuberance. “Dirthera’tel ma lan’an sulahn’nehn!” The words cut just about as much as the slice in her palm and she winced as the knife abandoned to the ground. She refused to view Solas for fear that she would have to face taunts of incompetence, she had never been cut by her own knife before. Solas however directed all of his focus on Lavellan’s features. He could see youth in her when her mouth would curl into a smile, or the way her brows raised when she got caught trying to slip away with something, the nature of her cheeks when she didn’t know how to react to a situation. She held the pride of youth which allowed her to be stubborn to no end, even if she was wrong. With youth comes mistakes, he reflected in himself.

“Da’len..” he exhaled lightly before gingerly grasping her wounded hand. He remained quiet as one hand cradled her hurt one, his other hovered above in a sapphire colored haze. The silence was stale and the grunts of the hart occupied the space that had been reserved for pleasant conversation. Both keenly listened for the telltale sign of relinquishment from the other, although neither side received such.

His fingers dimmed as he finished and she recoiled to examine her freshly healed hand, a few stray twinkles of light rising up from where the wound once was. Their eyes connected for fleeting seconds before she stood and turned her back to him. “Ir isala arla.” she mumbled, like she had given up a precious secret that would destroy her if used wrong. She sucked on the bottom of her lip as she shifted uncomfortably, still evading Solas’s face. “Ar nuvenin vhenas irassal emma.” She added, a pluck of her heart indicated she needed to move on or she would get emotional. This tradition was from her clan, and it was one that marked great renewing change. But she didn’t expect Solas to understand the Dalish, but she had hoped he would understand the homesickness that trapped her. “Ma serannas.” She announced delicately as she took the dirt path into Haven to look for someone else to cut her hair. 

He peered to the bloodied dagger that was on the ground, mind revolving over her words. Pain shifted in his chest as he recalled the start of his journey. When he met the Dalish, he was ecstatic to meet more of his kind but was promptly rejected for his radical views and truths about elves. He spent nights alone in a strange land, knowing he could not return to his home. His home was gone and everything he knew was reduced to rubble. He was painfully alone.

A shadow blocking his sunlight redirected his attention and although the cast of light made it difficult to determine who it was, the chest hair was a give away. “Master Tethras, to what do I owe the honor?” He asked, freighting a smile to the dwarf. “Well Chuckles, I couldn’t help but notice our elf friend stomping away ..” A cheeky grin was always a permanent feature on his face and it was no different in this instance. “Oh?” Solas resounded a mildly interested note to the conversation while he scanned the proving yard to see if he could spy Lavellan. “Yes, and I was wondering if you might’ve been involved, considering you both woke up half of Haven this morning too.” The dwarf crossed his arms, the question was not a question but more of a request for an explanation. Solas chuckled to himself as he stood, dusting himself off. “Ahh, so you heard that this morning then? My apologies.” The response was coy and reflected amusement while maintaining distance.  
Varric uncrossed his arms and shook his head, muttering something about his luck with sassy elves. His stance became rigid, the wrinkles in his face seemed deeper, his eyes turned pensive and his smile faded. “Look, I just wanted to let you know..” His tone lowered as he took a glance around, “Well, there was an attack on Lavellan’s clan and they were hit hard. Curly’s scrambling to send reinforcements to pick up any survivors but.. from what it sounds like.. they’re gone.” Varric paused, brushing a hand through his hair while agonizing silence held them both. Solas felt a chill run in his veins and his fingers buzz with numbness as he comprehended the news. “Does.. She know?” He murmured, his heart growing cold by the second, leaving behind spires of pain throughout his chest. “Not yet.. Leliana just wanted everyone to know first before.. Well, before they gave her the news.” With that the dwarf shifted and pursed his lips before giving Solas a nod in farewell. Solas could feel his mind drift off with the presence of the dwarf and he questioned what he should do, if anything. He felt compelled to join Lavellan while she received the news or be the one who gave the message. He could not decide, paralyzed by the possibilities. The hart huffed next to Solas and pushed it’s nose up into his palm, demanding to be pet. Solas sighed as he took back his seat next to the creature, palm focusing on the forehead of the animal rather than his thoughts.

Solas kept to himself the rest of the day and retired to his wooden shed that night, his mind hazy and unable to focus. This became even worse as he laid down for the night, his mind always circling back to Lavellan’s lost home and clan. He was only dozing when Cassandra came knocking to his door in the morning, announcing that an expedition to the Hinterlands was about to happen and to be ready in a hour. He gathered his things swiftly, took his turn in line for breakfast and continued to prepare for the trip. He slung his pack over his shoulders and held his staff while he approached the entrance of Haven, noting that the air almost sparked against his fingers. He passed under the pillars of the fortress and found the sky awash in opaque salmon morning light with apricot undertones and garnets colors cupping the clouds with the sun just barely peeking over the horizon.

He glanced over to the stables to spot Lavellan tossing packs over the hart’s back and brushing the animal down, all the while speaking softly to the creature. He could see the teeth of her daggers peeking out from her belt, over the hooded cloak she now wore.

Just as he was about to investigate, the hart leaned forward and pressed it’s forehead to hers in affection, this caused a curve of her lips to grow on her face. He felt momentary relief until he caught it, she was trying to cover the tinge of sadness that permeated to the rest of her features. His heart sank at the knowledge, that somehow if they had delayed telling her perhaps a new message would come through about a mix up. But being desperate allows for many impossibilities to seem viable.

Varric was the last one to arrive at the entrance, saying the line at breakfast was a mess. Cassandra scoffed and told the dwarf if he had just gotten up earlier that it wouldn’t have been a problem, he responded by saying that unlike her he needed his beauty sleep. Cassandra paused thoughtfully, “I will take that as a compliment, Varric.” she said, a hint of a grin on her face. Their banter continued for the better half of trip, but Solas found himself more focused on Lavellan who held a distant gaze in her eyes. When they finally made camp, the sunlight had dipped a honey color and the clouds became violet against the falling sun. 

When she stepped off of the hart, the hood of her cloak fell behind her neck and Solas held his breath at the sight. Gone were the chain of braids and instead shaved sides. The remaining swatch of hair was centered in her head, but bowed out when he looked straight onward to her. With the braids gone her cheek bones appeared sharper, brows have a deeper line, green orbs for eyes in downturn shape and her lips hit more dramatic light. Solas realized that her braids added more clutter to her features, and with them gone she now cast forth a more accurate portrayal of herself. A bump against his back jolted him from his observations and to behind him, where he saw the grin of Varric before he turned to continue building the fire. As he turned back, Lavellan was gone from his sight and he felt disappointment settle in his stomach.

She stalked off barefoot into the forest, shadows growing tall against the dying light of day and birds calling their last songs before sleep. As she made her way through the tangle, she scooped up mushrooms and herbs but made no real rush to a destination. It was only until she came upon a fallen log that she halted and sat. Her heart resonated with the hum of the trees and she found herself more at peace than she had been in weeks, perhaps even months. From her breast pocket she pulled a sealed letter, the wax of the seal still malleable under her finger tips. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she opened the letter and her heart quickened, but calmed as she read the ink. His penmanship elegant with wide loops and curls, it almost seemed to contradict the templar’s rigid nature however she attributed it to his years of teaching in the chantry. The letter read like a bland standard report that she had grown accustom to reading from any of the advisors, with the exception of the final paragraph.

A smile flourished on her lips as her mind read the words in Cullen’s tone, giving pause and hesitation to where she believed he would. The letter was abruptly ended with a few questions and as she thumbed to the next page, she found it blank. Her heart became warm when she realized he had provided the paper for a reply letter, implying that he wanted the correspondence. She slipped the letter back into her pocket just as she heard Cassandra’s callings, although there was a tone of urgency in the words that gave Lavellan alarm. She rose quickly and doubled back to camp, moving faster than when she left. Along the way her cursed hand flared, leaving stinging pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not tell me how to find joy / happiness.  
> Dirthera’tel ma lan’an sulahn’nehn
> 
> I’m very much in need of home  
> Ir isala arla. 
> 
> I need home wherever I am  
> Ar nuvenin vhenas irassal emma


	4. In the Reign of the Lion

Cullen’s stride was paced as he scoured the village for any troop members not assigned to a task or ones he could pull without much consequence, he depended on people who could sift through the remains of clan Lavellan for any survivors. He was steps away from leaving through the entrance of Haven when he passed a disgruntled looking Lavellan grasping her hair with one hand. His heart caught in his throat as he halted his march, hand automatically seeking the pommel of his sword. The fact of the matter was that she had not been told about the loss and no one wanted to give the news, already aware of how stretched she was with this to begin with. He swallowed his fear as he caught up with her, deciding he had the most experience giving out bad news. He cleared his throat before calling her name. “Lady Lavellan? A moment?” The question was not a question, more of a request and it paused her gait. “Ser Cullen? What can I do for you?” she inquired, although her tone was far away. At this rate she would be holding her hair for forever. “It’s better if we discuss this in private.” His words tender, like he wanted to cushion the blow anyway he could. She hesitated and directly stared into Cullen’s eyes, trying to determine intent but was unable. 

She huffed before turning up the path to her borrowed house and pulling the door open for the commander. He ambled in, idling around the middle of her room before realizing where all the elfroot had gone because the scent engulfed the entire room. Lavellan tied a thick braid as she envoked a fire in the hearth and put the kettle on to boil. She dragged the desk chair to Cullen and motioned for him to sit down before grabbing the stool for herself. He wavered, sputtering that he was more than comfortable using the stool and this was her space. She fanned him down saying that this borrowed house was her home and he was a guest. He reluctantly sat down and she matched him before standing up almost immediately to tend to the fire and gather mugs for tea. “Tea?” She called, back facing the commander while she poured the hot water into a mug. He tensed at the hospitality of the elf before mumbling a decline and not wanting to be a burden. She waved him down again, “Non-sense, non-sense..” She chided before setting the mug in his hands and offering a box of tea before him. 

He could feel heat gathering in his face, although he wasn’t sure if that was from the fire or from the kindness upon him. He gingerly took a bag at random, smelling it before dunking it within the confines of the mug. Lavellan smiled at the action and took a bag of tea for herself before setting the box back and taking a seat again. He began to give her thanks for the tea when she stood up once more, disturbing the flow of how he wanted to deliver the news. She returned to the hearth to take something down from the mantle, “Honey?” She asked lightly, her voice easing from frustration. Cullen hummed a questioned tone before an absentminded yes crossed his lips, “Hm? Yes?” It was the silence that caused him to glance, her still waiting for an answer. He was definitely blushing at this point, trying to recover what he considered to be a fumble on his part. “Oh! Honey, no. No thank you, Lady Lavellan.” He stammered once again. Under his breath he whispered ‘maker’s breath’ before running a hand through his hair. Satisfied she took her seat again and Cullen started once again, his eyes never leaving hers.

Everything slowed after that point, he gave the news and had to witness with agony at all of her reacting emotions across her face. She denied everything, even the notion that this was true. Panic welled up in her chest as his demeanor did not change and she realized that he would not give such grave information without being entirely sure of the situation. “Some of Leliana’s agents found your keeper’s staff among the remains of them.. I can have it given to you if you need validation of the situation.” His voice was a controlled calm, despite the chaos of events he was relaying to her. She finally burst into silent tears and croaked out a question, had they suffered? It was a question he could not fully answer and she ran a hand down her braid, clutching to herself. He could feel his heart breaking for her, desperately he wanted to take her into his arms to give comfort because words could not do justice. She recoiled into herself, before whimpering “I had a dream lastnight..” She paused to look into his golden eyes. “I had a dream that my clan got attacked and everyone died..” She winced and trembled before crying into her arm.

Cullen rose from his seat, rubbing the back of his neck, “I will give you time alone” he whispered with undertones of warmth. Two steps away from the door his ears caught a whimper to him, “Please don’t leave. I shouldn’t be alone right now.” He stood still as stone. “I don’t know what I’d do if i’m left alone.” She added and Cullen faltered. He wondered if this was appropriate or the right thing to do, but he could only feel the tug in his heart that told him to stay. He slowly slipped his coat off, returning to the elf’s side and laced Lavellan in the jacket. The gesture surprised Lavellan and the fur tickled her nose, yet she marveled at the remaining warmth that was left from him. Cullen’s eyes found hers and they shared collective agony for a moment. Her hair was stringy and unkempt, her eyes listless and puffy from tears, all the color from her face had drained. He swallowed his thoughts before changing his attention to the fire which had died down and left the room in a chill. She buried her face into the softness, dripping tears carelessly while she clutched the coat to herself and curled inward on the chair. They sat in silence, Cullen staring at her while she gazed off with a distant look in her eyes. It was only when he heard the little change in breath that he realized she had fallen asleep, tears still falling as she slept. He stood and scooped the elf up, she didn’t even stir while she was tucked into bed, still wrapped up in his coat. With that he tended to the hearth and created a bigger fire again.

Hours passed and she awoke later from her own sobs, he raised his head from the book he had come across in the room and met her gaze before getting up to move the chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?” His question was tentative and his tone was warm while he rested the book on his leg. She relaxed at the sight of him and sniffled while wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I feel nothing.” Voice was void while her eyes dimmed and she avoided eye contact. “Everything I know--knew is all gone.. I have no home.” Her words held cracks of pain. Cullen refused to say that he could relate because he truly could not, instead he listened intently. There was absolutely nothing on his half that could ease her sorrow other than being there and hearing anything she had to say. It was when she asked him, or rather begged him to do her a favor that he spoke. “Will you help me cut my hair? It’s silly now, but I was going to earlier today because well, everything has been so turbulent and cutting hair is a tradition for renewal and change.” she paused before biting her bottom lip “But, it’s especially relevant now that.. They’re gone..” Cullen didn’t even blink as he answered with a firm yes, and she could feel something in her chest lifted at the help. He added only under the condition that she ate some food because it was past supper time. She agreed with a weak curve in her lips before laying down again. 

Cullen stepped at the threshold of the house, turning back to glance at the woman. He smiled lightly before saying he would be back, to which he received a nod. The door eased shut softly and he was gone. With his coat still on and him out of sight, she willed herself out of bed and put a pot of water on to boil by the fire. She pulled out the desk and dragged it to the center of the room, brushing the papers off and clearing space. She pulled the stool up and waited for the templar. It wasn’t long before she heard the rhythm of boots outside followed by the door opening to indicate his return. He skillfully held a plate in one hand while the same arm held the other and he was gripping two bottles of wine with his other hand. His smile sheepish as he shut the door behind him, using his feet. He placed the bottles on the new dining table and rested the plates down next to them. They ate in silence first before the commander poured some wine into the now empty tea mugs. It was gradual but they both eased into genuine conversation with the assistance of the social lubricant and, other than the tinge of sadness that gripped her, it was pleasant. They talked of war reports first, followed by regions the reports were from and then it went wild from there.

A stray question opened the doors to travels with her clan and him in his journey as a templar. She listened with intrigue about the preparations for becoming a templar, while she shared the methods for getting her Vallaslin. She admitted that she struggled to choose the right mark for her, and it was only until the night before the ritual that she had a dream of Mythal. She trembled with a cringe while recalling the ritual itself, calling it painful was a gross understatement. This fact was over shadowed by the knowledge that they had to remain entirely silent the whole time or they would be deemed not ready for the burden. Cullen listened keenly with his hands laced together over his plate of food, he had heard the fact that they were required to remain silent the entire time but he just brushed it off as rumor. He shook is head and rested his hands on his lap as he cringed at her recollection. He shared the first time he took a draft of lyrim and how it made him sick, and the templar in charge almost declared him unfit but he managed to pull it together.

He spoke of the knight commander Meredith from Kirkwall, how he admired her constitution and determination but ultimately how she mislead and denigrated an entire group of people in fit of paranoia rage. He saw where he could have landed and it woke him up from the realities of being a templar. Lavellan spoke of the blight and the emergency that over took the clan, how they passed the Brecilian forest weeks before the other elven clan passed through and were ravaged by the werewolves of the forest. That the keeper took Lavellan’s words when she said they should not stray here. A decision that would ultimately save them more lives than she knew. A great pause over took Lavellan as she wandered through memories of her keeper. She chuckled as she told the templar how eccentric the leader was, that she refused to find a first and when other clans would offer mages to try out she would pass them along to another clan. Despite not being a mage, the keeper always looked to her and took effort to include her in the mage studies. This was how she knew so much of their language and history. 

Exuberantly she told of when she came across an abandoned wolf pup, sick with infection and how she tried to nurse it back to health. When the clan uncovered her sneaking around, she burst into tears for fear of them striking the pup down. After mulling over the decision the keeper talked the rest of the clan down, and they healed the pup before releasing it back into the forest. Months later she recalled how the camp was woken to the sound of guttural screams, the hunters sprung into the forest to trace what ever was making the noise. They found a Elven woman from the clan huddled around a dying wolf and the corpse of a shemlen man with bloodied ropes not too far away. The woman had gone into the forest to relieve herself when the shemlen man appeared and tried to steal her away, her shouts called forth the wolf who viciously mauled the man to death. The shem however had managed to deliver a killing blow into the wolf’s stomach and the creature laid dying. When the keeper and her arrived on the scene, they were astounded to find this was the same wolf they had saved. As the creature slipped away, the clan sang a song for Falon’Din to collect the wolf and deliver him home. The wolf was given an honored burial and the beast of a man was put in a shallow grave. Cullen’s eyes followed hers, bewildered at the story. “How.. Did she know that the wolf would..?” His thoughts unconnected and intangible but Lavellan answered regardless. “When I asked her if she knew that the wolf was going to repay it’s debt, she just smiled and said ‘one day you’ll realize not all wolves mean trouble, just a few that have lost their home.’”

The words captured Cullen and he was filled with quiet while she took another gulp from her mug of wine. Cullen examined the handle of his mug closely while he spoke of the first creature he killed on accident, the hint of shame lingering in his eyes. It was a common garden toad when he was a young boy, and he wept until his mother had to collect him from the garden and have him explain what happened. His mother used it as a lesson to prove how sacred life is and even now it gave him pause before he delivered a killing blow to his enemies. But he did what was needed, and prayed that the maker would forgive him.

A blush crept on her face as she recounted her first kiss. She was sixteen and caught the lingering gaze of a similar aged elf boy from a passing clan. Both camps settling not far away from eachother for the night and her mind kept circling back to the boy. In the morning while she foraged they spotted one another and they engaged in a game of tag before they both stumbled upon one another. They held eachother in laughter and she felt so much joy for life, like it was going to burst out of her chest any moment. With giggles still pouring out of her, she reached up and cupped his cheek before giving a swift kiss on the lips. When they parted to their own camps the boy sputtered a goodbye and wandered back to his camp in a daze while she was giggling on her way. Cullen laughed before an unfiltered mouth slipped out that any man who was lucky enough to have kissed her would definitely walk away dazed.

The comment caused them both to blush and her to hide a giggle from him, she would chalk it up to the wine making him loose but the comment did not feel wrong when she received it. He rested his cup down as he told of his first kiss, it was just after he completed the rite to be in the templar order and he was sent to the circle tower in Freleden. He was to give the killing blow to who would turn out to be the hero of Ferelden. He was, he made a point to clarify, infatuated with her and he was also very young. After the harrowing she pulled him away and, once again he was very adamant about this, she kissed him. Lavellan cackled profusely at this knowledge and how tender footed he was with it, he followed suit with laughing and said that it was true. He added that she is -- or, well, was a very lovely woman. With that addition, the mood in the room fell, his hesitation confirming unresolved feelings for the Hero.

Cullen rose and rested a hand against the back of his chair to keep from swaying, “Are you ready for that trim?” His voice light and kind, wanting to put the subject to rest. From his weapons belt he pulled a polished dagger, it was in immaculate condition and she questioned if it had even ever been used. The blade was sharp and curved, the teeth gleaming silver, the grip made with fine antivan leather and the pommel was hand carved from glistening silver into the shape of a lions head. He grinned at her fixation to his dagger, it was not something he typically used but found that the knowledge that he had it calmed him during close quarter fights. 

She pulled her attention away from the knife long enough to describe what she envisioned her hair to be like and Cullen faltered slightly, adamantly saying that he was no professional at this. She scolded him and told him to get on with it, this made him chuckle at her commanding nature. A passing wonder in his mind asked if there were other areas at which she would be like that too. Mortified to have even thought that, he furiously shook his head and tried to clarify and convince himself that he meant in regards to the inquisition, only the inquisition. To distract himself from the internal conflict, he focused on relaying stories to the woman. Before long he eased into the second time the Hero visited the tower after she had completed her joining to the Grey Wardens. Specifically when she found him trapped behind a magical circle and the awful things he said about mages. He paused in anguish as he recalled that day, he regretted saying those things and worked towards not harboring any hate towards mages now.

Lavellan bit her bottom lip and after moments of thoughtful silence, she admitted that when she had returned from her trip to the conclave she was to be bonded with another. Cullen blinked in surprise, even pausing his trimming to lock eyes with the woman. She further explained that she was the last one of her age not bonded to a partner and despite the keeper’s efforts, the clan pushed for it. After this journey she would be considered a full fledged adult and need to contribute to the clan. Cullen’s voice raised as he asked tentatively if they ever married out of love. Lavellan’s face burned with a blush as she huffed and answered that of course it is always preferred by everyone if that happens. But in her case she never found anyone there. They both held silence before he started trimming again.

She gave a hollow laugh as she said that it wasn’t much of a problem now and it caused Cullen to cringe. “I can’t say that I relate or what I’ve been through is similar but..” He wavered, questioning his professionalism by sharing these memories but the wine dulled the urgency of it. “After the blight, my family was forced to flee to south reach and.. Well, my parents did not survive the journey.” The pain was still palpable in his chest over that fact, even ten years later. “It was weeks after the fact that I found out. I was never able to attend their funeral.” He trailed off, his throat started to burn. 

“Cullen, we don’t have to talk about this, if it’s painful.” Her words were gentle against his hot ears and he felt his feelings solidify as he decided this was alright for him to share, that she made it okay. He trimmed around her ears and moved closer in to inspect his work. “No, no.” His words were firm with intent but soft with proximity, “I just want you to know that I’m here for you.” He paused, heat rising to his cheeks and he could spot Lavellan’s ears begin to turn red. He recoiled, realizing the effect of his words. “I mean -- just as the rest of the advisors are as well, we’re all here.” He floundered, whispering a line of the chant of light to himself.

“I think.. well, I think it’s done.” Cullen pulled away to allow her to stand. There was a sea of hair at their feet, he offered the dagger to her so that she could see from the reflection. Her eyes grew with light as she grinned, brushing a hand over the new cut. There was silence for a few moments while he waited for a reaction. “It feels so strange.” Her voice so soft he strained to hear it, but it was followed by a roar of giggles. “I love it, thank you so much.” He felt pushed to the brink of intoxicated at the noise of her laughter and praise, truly nothing so beautiful had ever graced his ears before. He willed himself out of the stupor he was under and chuckled, “I’m glad you like it, Lady Lavellan.”

She faced him and noted the heat that radiated off of his face and the blush that climbed with it, but most of all how his eyes held such happiness. Something In her chest stirred at the sight and she felt a buzz in her fingertips. When she saw the scar that struck down his face, she cupped his cheek and moved forward to inspect it without much thought. He immediately tensed and carefully watched her, something in his chest churned at her touch. Her hands felt so soft against his cheek and he was close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, but he really couldn’t keep his eyes off her lips. Plump and as red as the wine they had enjoyed together. His heart reached out but he would not allow his body to do so.

“What happened here?” She asked and he could feel the exhale of the words on his lips and he almost closed his eyes in rapture. He willed himself to break his stare and to peer into her gorgeous eyes. A smile cracked on his face, he could feel her thumb brush past his lips with it and it caused him to shiver. “It’s a story for another time, perhaps.” His voice was lower than he had anticipated, words strong and dipped in confidence as they left his mouth. How easy it would be to just lean forward to brush against her lips, even just once. Would they feel as supple as they looked, did she taste like elfroot tea, how would she react to a strong arm encircling her waist and pulling her against his chest. His own absent thoughts jarred him as he struggled to retain what professionalism he had left.

He gently recoiled from her touch, “Lady Lavellan, you should get some more sleep..” he suggested tenderly. Maker what was he doing, he questioned himself in both aspects. Verses from the chant of light were all he could hear as she pulled away. She nodded and climbed into bed while he tried to calm his heart down. His internal berating began when found a broom and swept the sea of hair to the outside of the house. He allowed himself a moment of fresh air before he returned and cleaned up the table before pulling out paper work from his inner pockets. He fished out a pen from the other breast pocket and looked up to discover she was still watching him, a lazy smile on her face and eyes fighting sleep.

He couldn’t help but chuckling to himself before returning to reports. It was sometime after she had fallen asleep and the fire had gone low that he finished all of his paper work that he had. He was left with nothing but blank papers and a full bottle of ink. He finished off the last of the wine before starting to write to Lavellan. It was a simple report of all the information he just recovered from his previous reports. He felt troubled after he wrote everything necessary, he didn’t want to stop and his heart pleaded him to continue. With the start of a hesitant hand he wrote about the things they talked about, the basic details of how he got the cut on his lip. He felt more confident until he realized there was not enough room for what else he wanted to say, panicked he tacked on questions in the hopes that she would still respond and in that time between he could think of actual things to talk about rather than reports. He folded up the letter before taking a block of wax from his pocket and his seal, marking and closing the letter.

He woke up slumped over the table, the light of the morning still navy blue but growing lighter. As he raised his head, he brought a field report up with him, it being attached to his lip via drool. He grimaced and slapped the paper away before giving a suspicious look around hoping no one had been witness to that, but found the room to be empty. He felt the slip of his coat cascade to the floor as he stood, he stopped with wonderment as he could not recall getting it back before he fell asleep last night, then his face gained color as he realized it was from Lavellan. With the garment loose over his shoulders he peeked outside of the door, only to find the chill morning air and the sun not even in the sky yet. He rubbed the back of his neck until he saw Cassandra making her way to the borrowed house. “Ahh commander, you are awake. Lady Lavellan mentioned that you watched over her last night and were still sleeping.” The woman spoke with authority and could see the question in his eyes. He choked as he tried to explain what happened but the woman cut him off before he could start. “She has decided to start the expedition to the Hinterlands today and is finishing preparations.” Cullen was surprised by the news but pleased regardless. Cassandra turned and headed to the chantry before giving him a look over her shoulders “You should be there to say farewell.” He couldn’t tell if the tone was coy or honest, frankly he could never tell with that woman. 

He stepped back into the house to put on his shoes and gather his paper work, along with the letter for Lavellan. He slipped on his coat and ran a hand through his hair before stepping out of the building and heading to the proving yard. It was there he saw her, leaning against the pillars of the entrance while beaming at him with wide playful eyes. “Good morning Ser Cullen, I hope you slept well?” She teased as he approached, coaxing a laugh out of him before he sighed nervously. She was awash in the blue morning light and the words radiant could not do her justice.

“I wanted to apologize if anything I said or did last night crossed the lines of professionalism.” He spoke quickly and eloquently, “Furthermore, I-I believe the wine was to blame for some of it--” he stumbled on his words before seeing the lush eyes of the woman and the curve of her smile. “Cullen, it’s fine. It’s exactly what I needed. I just wanted to.. Well to thank you actually, for staying with me last night, for listening and taking care of me.” She did not look away as the heat gathered in her cheeks and he felt his heart jump. “It was really no problem, Lady Lavellan.” He interjected eagerly, keen on making it clear that it was not a burden. There was a awkward pause that engulfed them both and he scrambled to keep her in his presence. He fumbled in his breast pocket and handed over the letter, followed by taking the lion head dagger off of his weapon’s belt and offering it to her. “Please take this with you, it’s not like I use it often enough anyway.” His words were low, and he felt a rush as she accepted the dagger and letter. “Thank you Commander.” She spoke, her voice light and waiting. Neither of them didn’t know for what, but they both reached for something they were too shy to approach yet. She departed with a smile on her lips to tend to her hart. He watched her leave, hand on his pommel and he could feel fear build in his chest for her, however he brushed this aside as a troop member approached him with more field reports.


	5. Eclipsed in the eye

“Will you be okay alone?” The question was met with raspy guffaw from the dwarf, “Yes Seeker, I’ll be fine. I’ve been alone before.” Solas tossed his pack over his shoulder while Cassandra nodded in response. Before they were out of ear shot, the dwarf cupped his mouth and hollered “Just don’t bring back any trouble with you!”. They scavenged for water sources and dry branches, Cassandra listened to the sound of the forest while Solas examined for signs of Lavellan. “So, you have heard that Lavellan’s clan is gone?” The seeker inquired casually, angling a look at the elf while keeping an idle hand near her sword. “Yes, I.. Was told yesterday. It’s incredibly unfortunate.” Solas acknowledged as the reminder soured his mood. “Does she know?” He added on without much thought, genuine curiosity impairing his rational mind. Cassandra drew in a gulp of air as she continued forward, “I believe so. Commander Cullen broke the news to her yesterday after she left from talking with you.” Solas reflected on the image of Lavellan in sorrow alone or essentially alone with the rigid commander. Lament swept through him, he should have been the one to tell her.

Cassandra perked up, “Solas, do you hear that? I believe it is a creek!” The words floated with hope and she charged ahead, leaving Solas straining to hear what she did. “Cassandra, I’m not sure what you’re hearing but--” His call suspended by the pulse of magic against his chest and the seeker’s gasp. He rushed to catch up only to find himself colliding into the back of the seeker, she stood in front of a still smoldering camp site. Tents were tattered and faded, resembling flags let to the elements, sun bleached bones rested on the floor of the tents, the stench of death hung in the air and the birds were gone. “Something is not right.” The warrior whispered to the mage, hand resting firmly on to her sword while the other tensed for the shield behind her. “Seeker, we should not be here.” The elf confirmed to her, gripping his staff with white knuckles. 

Cassandra drew her sword and shield in a flash, colliding with an attack he had not seen. There was the pierce of terrible shrieks that shattered the silence and a beam of ice struck the mage in the back, Cassandra cried out in concern. She sheathed her sword and shoved Solas to cover. “We need to go back to camp.” The elf stammered, his teeth chattering from the frost that was spreading across his body. The warrior nodded and questioned if he could run, which made the elf give a lopsided smile. It didn’t matter if he could, he’d have to. This seemed to be conveyed in his grin and Cassandra circled his waist while he held on to her shoulder for support. Together they ambled out of the line of ice and stumbled their way back to camp, Cassandra reflecting bounces of ice using her shield and Solas conjuring fire bolts in his free hand to send to the despair demons. As they careened into camp, Solas shouted an apology to Varric just as the demons burst into the area and ended the calm that had once occupied there. Varric yelled to the Seeker, to which she indignantly retorted with a “Not now Varric!” and launched an assault into a shade. 

Cassandra snuffed out two shades out of five, Solas dispersed six wraith spirits, while Varric broke a sweat distracting all three despair demons from the two other members. It wasn’t long before Varric fell unconscious, Solas became seriously injured and Cassandra to be treading water. Panic finally seized the seeker as she called out for the Herald, eventually distracting her enough to get slammed down by a shade. The seeker’s sword was knocked away in the fall and she fought with the demon over top her with bare hands, she yelled in rage as she kicked the beast with full force and cast it aside. She dived for her sword, managing to shield herself from a oncoming blow on her opposite side. An arrow slipped through the skull of the shade demon like a rock in water, and the shade plummeted down dead before Cassandra. She studied the source and was astonished to find Varric on his feet giving her a lopsided smile. He was busted up but conscious, and that was all that mattered. From the far side of the battle field a crash of lightning defended the seeker from an attack behind her, making the beast paralyzed. Cassandra delivered the killing blow to the fourth shade and glanced over to find Solas on his feet and pulling mana into his hands, he appeared battered but no longer in danger. Confusion captured the woman but she advanced in the fight, feeling a rush of stamina at the turn of the battle. She gasped as the field became awash in a flash of peridot and a crack of thunder reverberated against her ribs. “Lavellan!” Solas exclaimed and Cassandra followed the direction of his stare.

The Herald launched herself towards a despair demon, her daggers posed to plant upon landing and her mark shining in brilliance, her face curled in a snarl and her eyes holding fire. As the attack touched down she made sure that the daggers pierced deeply before she pulled to split apart more flesh. The demon wailed before covering her in a mist of ice, she could feel winter closing in on her sight but she felt something snap with in her chest. She could not breathe without tasting ash while her heart crackled amid the building flames in her body, her sweat started to evaporate on her skin until the first ooze of fire shed out from her pores. Her fingers swirled with tendrils of fire while she couldn’t escape the sensation of drowning in flame, making her scream out in agony. She pulled away in alarm, leaving her daggers in the meat of the beast to examine her fingers. She barely had enough time to evade a hit from the creature, without much thought she clenched her fists and delivered fiery blow after blow into the demon until she had an opportunity to retrieve her daggers. Viciously she created a tornado of fire as she delivered slices with her spinning blades and the final killing blow released a screech from the demon as it collapsed dead before her. 

The fire subsided while she panted and felt her skin tingle with aftermath. She glanced over her shoulder to the rest of her party which gave wide eye stares back at her in aghast, the sight created a half grin to form on her face. Half of a joke passed her lips when a hand was placed on her opposite shoulder and was then followed by the excruciating pierce of a clawed fist bursting through her abdomen. Her vision was swept with crimson as she pulled away and blood sprayed from her. She clutched a hand over the wound as she pivoted to face the assailant, staggering backwards before toppling as her other hand trembled with the knife. The cries from Cassandra were barely audible over the chorus of her clan and she mouthed the words as darkness washed her away from the waking world.

Her tongue swelled like a dry cotton ball in her mouth and her throat split in drought. Her pulse pounded against the back of her eyes and it felt like three bags of sugar had been set on her stomach. She groaned and lolled against a pillow as her eyes fluttered open, “Shh shh..” the raspy voice of Varric comforted her and he pressed a gentle hand to her forehead. “I’m so thirsty..” She croaked out, tears stinging and he immediately offered a canteen of water to her lips. While she drank deeply she could hear the volume of an argument outside, but the words were too far away for her to catch. The dwarf saw Lavellan’s curiosity and removed the water, she huffed a thanks before resting her head back down on the pillow. 

“You scared them, for one thing.” He established, having a guess that she was wondering what the commotion outside might be about. “Also second off, you never told us that you were.. well” He released a groan before standing up and looking to her expectantly, which caused Lavellan to raise a brow in hazy confusion. “You’re a wizard, Lavellan!” There was a pause between them while her dazed brain wracked to make connections, apprehensively she questioned, “I’m.. A what?” He paced the confines of the tent, “Or a witch or mage or what ever it’s called these days..” She opened her mouth in argument when Solas peeked his head through the tent flap. 

The apostate and dwarf exchanged soft words before Varric left and Solas perched down besides Lavellan, lifting the bandage that wrapped her waist. His palm became doused in cobalt as he drifted it over her wound, she squirmed as she recalled the last time he healed her. “Stop Solas.” He peered down at her with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just a flesh wound..” She defended and slid her elbows to her sides to prop her self up with great effort. Solas’s confusion dropped as he rolled his eyes, before returning his hand above her abdomen. He leaned forward into the wound just for a few seconds which resulted in her cursing in pain before collapsing back down to the ground, but she was sure she witnessed the coy indentation of a smile fading from his features. “Okay, maybe I do need help..” She mumbled.

She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep until she heard Solas’s timbre disrupting her dreams. She inhaled gingerly before raising her arms in a stretch, unfortunately the pull of her clotted flesh cut her short. Her eyes were blurred with sleep but she found the apostate reclined across from her in the tent, his elbows holding him up while his hands laced together across his stomach, one leg extended in relaxation towards the open flap of the tent and the other was bent at the knee with his foot flat on the ground. The apostate did not break his gaze as he scrutinized the fire through the door of the tent. Her eye lids grew heavy once more until the sugary melody hummed in the mage’s throat became clear in her mind. The chorus of her clan sauntered back into her mind and she felt stinging tears collect in her eyes. Solas turned bold eyes down to the woman as he faintly realized that she was accompanying him in the song, her voice thick with sleep and trembling at the memories. 

He arranged to sit cross legged next to her and then brushed a hand over her forehead, he did not cease the lock of their eyes as he intently watched her. She flushed as he traced the vallaslin under her eyes, caressing tears away with his thumbs while his hand grew in navy light. He cupped one hand to her cheek, still lazily stroking her mark as the other hand outlined her shoulder then glided down her waist, leaving behind shivers as the healing magic kissed her skin through her clothes. It finally rested above the gash in her stomach and she felt her heart jump as they finished the song in unison, finding the air was static around them in the silence they shared. 

“Ir abelas, Lethallan..” His words were hot against her ears and she strained to focus, she wanted to ask why but held her tongue at the nature of his pinched brows and the shame that collected in his eyes. “Mir solas na ma mi,” a flick of his thumb on her cheek created heat to grow to her ears. “Ar tel’tu na’lin emma mi.” The words were soaked in remorse as they left his mouth and forgiveness rose in her chest. With a hesitant hand she lingered over the mage’s cheek before setting it upon his shoulder, “Solas.. Ir..” Her words faded away as a rush of warmth dissolved through her stomach, her toes curling in bliss. “La mala vhenas na..” He drowned in words he could say, but none and yet all could fully articulate the sorrow felt for her loss. “Ir abelas.” He finally exhaled as he sealed his eyes shut. She wasn’t when his hand fell from hovering to plainly resting on her stomach, gently tracing circles with his thumb, but her words would cause Solas to stir and reveal his eyes to her again. “Solas, ma serannas. I forgive you.”

Joy shined in his eyes before he recoiled away from her entirely and she felt the loss of contact strike hard in her chest. The departure was easily forgotten as she discovered she could sit up without cringing and this allowed delight to grow in her eyes. “Your understanding of Elven is astounding. It’s comforting to find someone among the waking world who I can share that with, Lethallan..” His tone genuine and she felt a hint of embarrassment at the praise. “The keeper would take me along with the mages as she would teach them, despite me not being..” Her response trailed off as her memory flickered, recalling the previous battle and how flames engulfed her, the sensation of her skin flaking a blacked peel. She huffed before shooting a glance at the elf who peered on with intrigue. “Solas, I don’t know what happened in the battle but I’m not.. A mage.” She almost winced at the words, although she had much respect for the group she did not want to be put in with their social disadvantages. 

Solas chuckled and moved his eyes to the fire outside, “Ahh, well. What ever you may be, there was magical ability on the field yesterday and Cassandra is concerned.” Another interval of calm as she took a swig from the water bottle, she pondered out loud. “Could.. The keeper have known that I am.. Magically adept?” a nervous laughter escaped her throat as she continued her musing. “I suppose that would be one reason why she never took a first because perhaps I was to be her first..” She was barely able to finish before dropping her head in her hands and moaning in angst. “Why now? I Can’t be a mage, casting magic hurt, it isn’t suppose to hurt is it?” she asked through her fingers. Solas absentmindedly toyed with his wolf jaw necklace while he spoke, “Perhaps you have been denying it’s nature within you. That denial gives you pain as you cast magic. I believe the more practice you gain with magic, the more your body will grow use to it.” She groaned at Solas’s words, “No, no. All this shit is weird..” She heard Solas stir next to her before the climbing sensation of comfort churned in her stomach and she peeked through her fingers. There was a tender curl of a smile in the corner of Solas’s lips as he focused deeply to his hand, which now lay on her wound again. His heat permeated through her thin shemlen clothes and he drew shapes on her skin, there was an intimacy to this that caused blush to spread. “Lavellan, you should rest. Your wound is nearly healed and I expect that we will be continuing to the hinterlands tomorrow.”

True to his word, they gathered up that morning and took to the road once more. Solas and Varric chattered together while Cassandra and Lavellan remained quiet in contemplation. They arrived to Harding’s camp after a day’s worth of travel, the sun hung low below the mountains that had ascended up around them. Sleep did not come to Lavellan easily that night, she could feel the misery of the crossroads below them and hear the death cries of frightened people. In the morning they tread with caution through the ravine that led into the cross roads, decomposing bodies strewn on either side of the walkway caused Lavellan to grasp the lion’s head dagger the entire time. She saw terror in the faces of mages and templars, eventually they all became one lashing entity and she could no longer differentiate between the two. Every body that hit her blade caused a ‘Ar’din nuvenin na’din’ to leak from her and by the end she was breathless. Her reports that night were stained with tears as she sorted out the facts first: that they located Mother Giselle and how her serenity was unnerving but welcome among the chaos, that she had suggested they take a trip to Val Royeaux to talk more with the chantry, how so many were refugees in the crossroads and she simply couldn’t find it in her heart to dismiss any request made from them. Her tears had formed puddles on her knees by the time she got to Cullen’s letter. 

In her personal paragraphs she lamented over how much blood was shed and that regardless of mages or templars, they were all alone and feared for their life. She felt the grit of shame as she admitted she still considered casting herself to the depths of the forest and never returning from the sea of green, that it is what she would do as a child amid arguments in her clan. Reality was quick to sober her from panic when her cursed hand would flare up or found herself in situations she would never hope upon a child. Her tears transformed into words on the page and she wrote until the candle of light would burn all the way down or until she felt emptied of all emotions and was able to finally sleep. Reports were sent twice a week and it became a reliable crying ritual. Letters back from Cullen contained all pertinent information, but was always followed by lengthy responses to Lavellan’s qualms. He understood her doubt at being the right person for this, but affirmed that this was a battle for all of Thedas and one way or another it would catch up with her. He emphasized that although fear was making them lash out, they were causing harm to innocents caught in the middle. He told stories of when he was in similar situations of conflict to confirm to her that she was not alone in this struggle.

A month and two full circles around the Hinterlands marked the completion of most tasks for the group, and the decision to head back to Haven. In that month her mark burned less but was replaced with sparks of fire she would accidentally conjure, they found the dragon in the north east and Lavellan singed her hair while they fled the scene, and most importantly they gained influence in the area. The sun was a newly hatched yellow and fresh among the clouds when they marched on the dirt path leading to the entrance of Haven. Inside they were welcomed by the troops with cheer and she received throngs of folks reaching to shake her hands in celebration. The advisors marked the end of the trail and she had trouble keeping her eyes away from Cullen. Something in her chest reached out to him, and she wondered if he was reaching back. Upon greeting him after the rest, Leliana and Josephine slipped away giggling together and heads low in gossip. Pleasantries were exchanged before Cullen pulled a letter from his pocket, still fresh with his seal. “I had forgotten you were to return today and I..I already finished your letter by the time you got here.” His lips tucked a shy smile in the corner while he observed her once again, checking to see if she had changed since a month ago. She had grown in muscle, her skin now darker with a tan and her freckles became more pronounce on her face, but her vivid eyes remained the same and he felt tension release at this. She accepted the letter and her hands lingered against his before pulling away, her face growing with a smile. His chest tightened and his head became clouded as his own shy smile blossomed at hers. Maker, he thought absentmindedly to himself. It wasn’t long before Cassandra approached her for pressing inquisition matters, and upon leaving she tossed a “As I was saying..” Over her shoulder with a coy smirk towards the commander and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

The dinner that evening was raucous in the celebration of their return which caused the perfect diversion for her to sneak out of sight. As she stalked off her muscles twinged with soreness and her skin felt filthy from the days travel back to Haven, this was reason to take a bath. She managed to locate an oversized barrel and she rolled it into her house. As she set it down it dawned on her that with the amount of water she would need, it would be difficult to fill the tub while keeping it warm. She considered the dilemma while filling a mug of hot water, and her face soured as it was still too chill upon drinking. The idea crept in her mind and she inched a finger into the mug of water and focused. She invoked the image of her heart aflame and sending the heat down her arm before descending into her hand and into a single point on her finger. She bit her lip as it felt like she had touched a hot pot with her finger but within moments a single bubble was produced. This was enough to convince her. After fetching several buckets of icy water and filling the barrel, she peeled away her clothes. 

She whispered a prayer to Sylaise before submerging herself, dipping a leg in before following with it’s mate. She sat down in the freezing water, the heat of her breath creating mist over the water while she trembled and shivers coated her flesh. She shut her eyes and imagined her heart a low burning flame, she turned up the heat and it spread farther to her body; encircling her chest before moving to her shoulders and spreading to her arms and calves. Finally she wiggled her toes at the heat but also at the feeling of her heart being transformed into a live burning coal in her chest. She persuaded her eyes to open and discovered wafting billows of heat rising up from the water, clouding the ceiling of the tiny house. She sat amazed at the magic, her flesh starting to become pink with heat. Giggling she sank deeper in relaxation and noted to put in some aromatics in the next bath she took because it would be divine.

The knocking didn’t register until the click of the door indicated it was opening, and by then it was already far too late. The fire of the hearth burnt down and the only light was the full moon entering in from the door, illuminating the entire room in ghostly blue glow and casting her in a water color filter. Her naked skin was bright against the russet colors of wood, the silky blue of the water cast her awash in faded color while wispy lines of steam still ascended up from the water. Her legs were extended but knees pulled together as she rested her shoulders against the barrel, her neck craning against the side of the barrel and her arms rested atop the sides. 

Her eyes flickered open just in time to watch the reaction of the man who just walked in on her bathing and she felt horror explode in her stomach as a unfiltered scream flew from her mouth, “Venavis Fenedhis lasa!!!” She spewed in elven before rising to fling items at the perpetrator, causing him to fall backwards into the snow. “Garas quenathra!?” she demanded with a hand on her hip but she quickly remembered she was still nude, and swiftly flopped back down into the water to cover herself. The man scrambled away before her, leaving the door a jar in his wake. “Masal din’an..” She growled under her breath as she stood once more, carefully stepping out of the bath. “Ma halam, emma shem’nan..” She said as she locked the door and stood with hands on her hips, now blushing from head to toe. Creators why, she questioned pressing a hand to her head as she sighed. She was never going to hear the end of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mir solas na ma mi:  
> My pride is my blade
> 
> Ar tel’tu na’lin emma mi:   
> I not will see your blood on my blade.
> 
> La mala vhenas na..:  
> and your home is..
> 
> Ir abelas:  
> I’m very sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> Venavis: stop
> 
> Fenedhis lasa:   
> an expansion on Fenedhis, a common curse, similar to crap.
> 
> Garas quenathra:   
> “Why are you here?/Why have you come?”
> 
> Masal din’an.:   
> a threat, meaning unknown
> 
> Ma halam:   
> You are finished.
> 
> Emma shem’nan:   
> My revenge is swift.


	6. Maker

His thoughts were vicious cycles of work and contemplating over the hitch of her breath as she hid her disgust at casualty reports, the empathy that became a permanent fixture in her lush eyes and the nature of her delicate hands while she feverishly worked alongside the healer. Correspondence after the Hinterlands confirmed that Lavellan only reported a fraction of her benevolence and letters of reverence from those saved, spared or spectators poured in from all across Ferelden. He could not deny admiration for the elf who overflowed with kindness, but this created concern. His whole body craved to protect her and he would have to hold back from offering to accompany the group on expeditions. He trusted the group well enough but there was always doubt in his mind, and this is what implored him to pray each night for her safe return so that she might continue to cast brilliance in the clouded world.

At the end of a private meeting between the advisors, Josephine and Leliana teased him about needing to befriend a paper mill due to his letter writing habits. He blushed and sputtered a denial before exiting the room to evade more mockery. Shame colored his thoughts; for being discovered by others for his feelings for the elf, even if they were fledgling in nature. One evening after dinner, their eyes locked from across the mess hall and the smile dissolved from her face, and only solidified the fears held in his chest. He declared himself selfish for such feelings and more so foolish for even considering the idea. The revelation of her magic abilites didn’t ease his internal tension, still waking up shaking from nightmares nightly. When he returned to his tent that evening he gathered all of their letters and tucked them down deep in a trunk next to his lyrium kit, he buried them as he did his feelings for her.

Solas adopted an opposite schedule as Lavellan, desperate to separate from her. He could not stop his hands from remembering the silk of her skin, the echo of Elven that so perfectly coiled around her tongue or how her imperishable hunger for knowledge often resulted in long conversations over tea; and all these unrelenting thoughts drove him mad with longing for her company. On particularly restless nights he lay in bed and found his night hours occupied with elven words he could teach her, “Yes” “Harder” “Please” among some of them. He felt no guilt at these thoughts as he would not refute that she was stunning. He was captivated by the curve of her petite bust, the way her lines would dissolve into her waist before falling down into her wide hips that accentuated her firm hindquarters. He only felt remorse when he wanted for more, more than physicality. 

A particular day-dream held his imagination during quiet times, of being curled up next to one another the morning after and the caress of his hand from her side to her stomach. The little murmurs of sleepy Elven tumbling from her mouth as she yawned and turned to him, burying her face into his bare chest. Puffs of her breath warming his collar bones and the scent of her hair, her nimble fingers drawing circles on his chest. He reveled in the excited gasp she would surely release when his hand fell down her spine and cupped her ass, a smirk of dominance thriving on his features. His saucy threats in Elven before he gripped her bottom, the pout of her plum lips as he untangled himself from her to glide out of bed. While examining the fresh morning through the dewy window panes of their secluded cottage, the questions would start. What methods of art or expression did the ancient elves have? His lips would curve and he would tease her for asking such intricate questions before breakfast, her adoration would falter and she would shrink back shyly into bed. A chuckle would bubble up from his chest and a lingering forehead kiss reassured her that her thirst for knowledge was always a delight, but perhaps food was in order first. The hearth burned brightly at the addition of wood, a kettle for tea hanging amid the mouth of flames. Midway through cracking eggs into a pan, shivers would halt him and her icy fingers being the culprits. She would tickle his lower back before tracing his nipples while a muffled giggle against his back would set him awash in bliss, warmth and intimacy. They would have breakfast in bed, talking over elven lore, and the excitement of knowledge would make her eyes shine and cause his heart to beat faster in reaction. They would devolve into gentle lovemaking before the tea got cold.

But the path ahead of him only held room for one and it would be cruel for him to ask any more of her. He kept to his day dreams to avoid temptation but his heart couldn’t help but reach for her as a plant does to the sun.

The incident of being walked in on while bathing became long forgotten as Lavellan dedicated most of her time volunteering at the healer’s tent. She progressed into a new routine of rising early for breakfast before joining the healer’s efforts and never leaving until the sun had long dipped below the horizon. At night she would wander through the woods outside of Haven in search of game before retiring to her house, some nights she was fortunate to find rabbits while other nights she was forced to gorge on plant life. She would wake early in the morning to start the cycle again and after periods of her falling asleep during breakfast, the advisors started to notice something was amiss. Cullen wanted her to be put under guard and forced to take days of rest, while Josephine took to requesting outside sources for more assistance in healing, Leliana sent scouts to deliver food to her doorstep everynight. 

Cassandra disrupted this routine one morning by dragging her to the final chamber of the chantry for talks with the advisors. She bit her lip as she considered the conditions needed for elfroot to grow indoors while the advisors talked. Moments of silence in the room finally broke her focus to the subject at hand. Val Royeaux. Lavellan decided it was a terrible idea to put herself in such danger among the public but it wasn’t a full deterrent from going. 

The group packed and made preparations for the trip that evening, thankfully help arrived for the healer and it put Lavellan at some ease about leaving Haven. They left just as the birds had started to awaken in the morning, Cullen seeing them off with a stoic appearance and a hand on his pommel. He could not deny his fright for Lavellan, especially himself. He immediately cast off any semblance of longing or wisps of infatuation from his mind, adamant about his decision to let her go from his nestling heart. His body tensed as Leliana patted him on the back before stalking out of sight, Josephine remained beside him to mention some war relief efforts and then not so subtly shoved blank parchment papers into his hand before smiling and taking her leave gracefully.

Six days of travel, including a boat ride across the choppy passage, had claimed any trace of tolerance that the group once had for eachother. “I’m just saying if forced to choose, I’d rather take down the 10 nug sized Qunari rather than a Qunari sized nug. I mean, have you seen an Arishok?” Varric’s words carried over the silently boiling group as he chattered to no one in particular. A wary hand stretched down Lavellan’s face as an unfiltered sigh escaped. “Creators Varric.. Kindly shut up..” The dwarf gasped in reaction to the terse behavior but was cut off by Cassandra, “Thank you Lavellan, besides we are almost there.” Her words were round and extended, showing signs that her patience was becoming scarce. 

“I.. what is this about Lavellan? is it about what happened?” He ceased his gait to rest his hands on his hips, his brows crossing in a bothered expression, “I already apologized about that .. Eight, yes eight times now.” His words were punctuated with her halt, before she pitched a scowl over her shoulder to him and moved to tower over him. “Who just WALTZES into someone’s house?!” Her face was touched with the color of pomegranate as the words were hissed through her teeth. “I knocked and no one answered, I was just confirming it!” Varric’s words were gruff and unyielding to Lavellan’s gaze. That is until her words burst from her mouth in unrivaled exasperation, “I WAS NAKED, VERY NAKED AND BATHING--” 

Solas’s ears twitched at the confession and he could feel heat gathering in the tips of his ears, and although he had not been paying mind to the bickering before, he became suddenly intent on listening. “AND YOU BURST INTO MY HOUSE!” Varric’s demeanor faltered before he raised his hands in defense, glancing frantically to take stock of those around to hear the grievances against him. “Okay okay, it was a big mistake, what can I do to make this better?” His voice was low with shame and remorse genuine in his eyes. Lavellan hesitated, not expecting him to relent so quickly to his accident, “I.. don’t know. Let me think about it.” she pursed her lips, passing the dwarf and continuing on to the entrance. The bridge led up to the extravagant horizon adorned with golden domes that sparkled in the sunlight, billowing cloth banners waving illuminated colors against the breeze and walls smooth and freckled like the shell of an egg with vines of plants fanning towards the sun. She had seen shem cities before, even been to Denerim once or twice, but the majesty of this did not compare. She was forced to pick her jaw up from the ground upon seeing the scout trotting towards them and could feel the pit of anxiety grow into a cavern at the news of templars and chantry waiting for them. The intimidation was palpable in the air as they approached the ring of people within the bright summer bazaar. 

Ahead upon a raised stage a chantry mother called to the people, and her tone immediately changed upon seeing Lavellan. She squirmed at the insinuation that she had been the catalyst of death of the divine but moved quickly felt resentment when the word ‘elf’ was spat in her face. “Enough! I will not listen to these self-serving lies! We came here to talk!” Lavellan snapped, this avoidance of the real threat was beyond her understanding. Cassandra’s support allowed Lavellan to take a breath of air and release her closed fists, but the tension returned as she cautiously watched the templars take the stage. She felt the air in her chest fracture at the Chantry Mother receiving a unprovoked blow to the back of her head. Lavellan bolted forward and managed to catch the mother from a complete fall, the mother cradled her head and moaned in pain against the elf’s chest. Lavellan could not contain the heat building in her finger tips while the mark flashed emerald in reflection of her anger. 

A snarl carved on to her features while she seemingly bared her teeth, her words were lathered in venom, “What is the meaning in this?” She demanded answers for this violence, carefully leaving the mother to her robed sisters before pursuing after the templars. Cassandra followed closely behind, trying to speak to the lord of the group. The templars were not here to assist anyone, chantry or not. “If you’re not here to help the chantry, then you just came to give speeches?” The dry bite of Lavellan’s words went unnoticed by the lord and the indentation of the lion’s fang pressed deeply into her thumb as she gripped her sheathed dagger. Her glare followed them as they marched out of the summer bazaar and the venom clung to the inside of her mouth as she nonchalantly circled back to the mother. The woman pitied her own bruised ego and the elf could feel her eyes involuntarily roll, never the less she retrieved a clean wrap from her pack to tend to the hurt woman. The mother then asked the elf if she thought she was the maker’s choice, which gave Lavellan pause. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” She answered firmly before finishing the knot and standing up to dust herself off.

As the day stretched into evening, they rented rooms in an inn and by flickering candle light she wrote the commander the synopsis of the day. An arrow containing Sera’s message caught Lavellan’s attention easily, it having nearly struck her foot. Lavellan hoped that first impressions would not dictate the future as she discovered Sera to be rather brash, regardless Sera was recruited to the inquisition, along with a satchel packed with too many breeches. A courier awarded the group with an invitation to a party hosted by a Madame de Fer, a mage of prominent status. The mage spoke with such poise and tactfulness, it left the question of an alternative motive hanging in Lavellan’s mind. Vivienne was gained but Lavellan kept a suspicious eye on the woman, fingers alight in a dull glow of flame from behind her back in caution. Another mage named Fiona called to them before they were out of the threshold of the summer bazaar, she invited them to talks at Redcliff in regards to mages but the coy tone of the fellow elf left Lavellan feeling bewildered and apprehensive.

With all the work out of the way, Lavellan proceeded to the personal portion of the letter. Words were elusive however and she bit away at her finger nails, mulling over what to write about to encourage exchange between them. His previous letters were stark with his usual private responses and it frightened her. She absentmindedly wracked her brain for reasons why he would be so suddenly cold towards her. Her fingers vibrated with a pulse of heat and she pulled away to witness the glow beneath her nails of warmth. She bit her lip while her heart crumpled in her chest at the realization, he had been a templar during the blight at a mage tower. A mage tower that dissolved into madness and she was a newly discovered mage. There was an ache in the back of her throat that made her pause the letter for a moment, creating an ink splotch on the bottom of the letter. Perhaps he thought they were incompatible, for what exactly she wasn’t sure but regardless it effected his demeanor towards her. She swallowed the pain in her chest and resolved that it was probably for the best. 

Lavellan remained quiet in her own thoughts for most of the returning trip to Haven, however once they stepped foot into the small village they were immediately bombarded with updates on tasks and requests for action. 

She was desperate to retreat back to her room and stew in exhaustion over the lackluster letters of the commander but held with Cassandra and the advisors during the oncoming flurry of information. The advisors conflicted about supporting the mages or templars, Lavellan believed that her opinion would not matter in such a debate, leaving it for them to decide. The group dispersed and her feet became light as she hasted to her tiny house, but skittered to a stop as she peered out the entrance to the proving yard where Cullen stood. His figure reminiscent of delicately sculpted marble warriors she encountered in Val Royeaux, but his eyes were tender from years of wisdom and sacrifice. His gaze turned with the wind and those gentle eyes now lay on her. Her heart sped up as she felt her finger tips tingle while her head grew clouded as he became the only thing that mattered in her vision. A recruit scout tapped the commander on the shoulder and stole his attention away, breaking the spell over her and allowing her thoughts to return. “Creators..” She whispered with a slightly blushed face, brushing fingers through her hair before continuing to her little house. 

Steps before the door to her shelter, she could smell it but it was only an absentminded thought until she opened the door to the house. Boxes upon boxes of precious herbs had been stacked in the middle of the room, the most abundant being elfroot. She was pleasantly surprised upon finding a note from Varric among the content of boxes. She traced the outline of a elfroot leaf while smiling to herself, this would absolve him of any further grudges.


	7. Have you left me here

The balmy sea spray stung the inside of her nose, but it was the blending of deep cobalt to light chartreuse topped with snow white foam that caused tears to well up against her eyes. Her lush eyes were captivated at the swell of the sea, astonished at the resemblance to what she imagined a moving painting would appear like. She swallowed the tender lump in her throat, allowing a grin to crease her face and inhaling the sea air deeply before giving a chuckling sigh. “I smell seaweed. How do I know seaweed?” Sera questioned absentmindedly while holding a flat palm above her brows to peer across the moving hills. Lavellan glanced backwards to her group members, only to be the sole witness of a wave crashing down on Solas who was bringing up the rear of the party. A gargled shout from the elf caused the others to turn just as the wave faded and slipped back into the coast, leaving the mage dripping wet with seaweed locks tangled on his bald head and patches of spindleweed adorning the tips of his ears. Lavellan wrestled with concern and amusement as she hedged forward to the mage, “Are you okay, Hahren?” She squeaked between holding in a cackle and retaining a calm breath. The unfiltered snickering from Sera echoed off the cliffs and Blackwall released a uproarious guffaw at the situation. Lavellan approached the mage as he peeled seaweed from himself and shook off his staff, his features tight in mortification and refusing to look at the incoming elf. 

She plucked spindleweed from his ears, biting her lip to prevent a chortle from escaping. Her kindness sanded down his embarrassment and softened his heart with her careful preservation of his ego, his steel azure eyes connected with her vibrant leaf colored ones and a coy grin sprouted in the corner of his lip. Her finger tips vibrated with heat, drifting her hand over his ears and cheek bones, before settling on his jaw. His stomach curled at the intimacy and he felt blood against the back of his ears, his eyes straying down to her cheek bones to the curve of her nose and to the fall of her plum lips.

The abhorrent feeling of seaweed slipping down from his forehead to over his vision shattered the moment between them and the raucous laughter from behind her only solidified. A stifled giggle slipped through Lavellan’s mouth as she flicked plant life back into the water, her delicate laugh breaking some of his tension and giving permission for him to return a light chuckle.

They continued prowling the coast for the fabled bull’s chargers. After minutes of following faint sounds of battle, they navigated to a small alcove and were greeted with the swords of Venatori. Oblivious to the danger however Lavellan stood bewitched at the vision of the Qunari; His duo onyx horns poised up to the sky, his grey skin slick with sweat and his muscles bulging at the weight of his two handed weapon. It was only after an icicle pierced through the chest of an incoming enemy that Lavellan drew her daggers in defense, causing a huff to resonate from the mage towards Lavellan’s carelessness. Lavellan’s hesitation towards killing diminished with each new excursion and she became more proactive in tricking a foe to their death, this allowed her to move quickly in between enemies and cut down ones already nearing the end to dismantle congestion on the battle field. As she weaved around Blackwall, she became caught between the wall of a cliff and the high blow of an enemy’s ax. She dodged the first hit by falling into a summersault on the ground but just as she got her footing again, the enemy had already been half way to delivering another attack. She seized up, bracing for the blow and locking eyes with her attacker.

The weapon blurred as she was yanked from the blow with the wrap of a thick grey arm encircling around her waist. The Qunari’s throaty tease tickled her ears, creating a flush to flourish on her face and for her to stumble over words of appreciation. Her thanks became lost as she yelped in surprise, suddenly being hoisted up on to his shoulder with very little effort. She clamored to straddle the Bull’s neck from behind, grasping hard onto his horns while he continued his press of attacks into enemies. She witnessed his battle style from the safety of above, taking note of his jovial nature while the taunting foes into pursuit but the act was not without method.

He laughed deeply as the last Venatori fell and the vibrations of his joy traveled through her legs but she made no intention of leaving the man’s shoulders, uncertain if she wanted to leave such a safe space. A curt huff was exhaled and the kicking of gravel could be heard as Solas marched from the back of the group directly towards the Qunari. “Ara seranna-ma,” His voice was flat with indifference if the Iron Bull understood and the phrase being more out of habit than politeness for the grey man. The mage lifted his palms In offering towards her, “Penshra Ghilas vellathan, lethallan.” his words to her were smooth as a polished stone and gentle as a stream from a river. She stirred from above the horns, adjusting her legs to one side of the qunari’s shoulder to angle her decent. Iron bull offered his hand for added balance, despite the lethal looks Solas shot him, which she took gracefully before tumbling into Solas’s arms. He held her tightly against his chest, fingers lingering on the small of her back and she felt his tension dissolve under her skin.

“I try to avoid letting people ride me when I first meet them.” The Iron Bull said chuckling as he rested his ax on his back and turned to the rest of the group, Lavellan recoiled from Solas to scan the shore for her fallen daggers. “Yeah, you should’ve at least bought me a drink first before handling me.” The comment slipped out before she could scoop it back into her brain and she screamed internally. Sera made an impressed hum as she elbowed Blackwall in the ribs, pointing to the interaction with a smirk on her face. “I can still buy you one tonight.” The Qunari oozed with confidence, challenging her but she didn’t dare to match his tenacity. “Perhaps after we solve the tear in the sky first..” Solas interjected bluntly before walking past the two to stand with Sera and Blackwall.

The comment was laid to rest as they spoke of the band of mercenaries, followed by what could be gained from having a Ben-Hassrath among the inquisition. Lavellan mulled over the decision as she begrudgingly sipped a mug of ale that had been given to her, she was concerned with being double crossed from the inside but eventually resolved that there was always that chance. A hearty laugh left his throat after she agreed to have them aboard and he slapped her on the back with enthusiasm, causing her to choked on her alcohol in surprise before sheepishly smiling up at Iron Bull. Together they trudged their way back up the shore, the chargers in tow with Solas bringing up the rear once more, his expression in contemplation while he watched the horizon.

The warmth of the fire was eagerly welcomed after the day’s adventure through the misty wilderness of the storm coast, evoking Lavellan to change into dry clothes and allowing her under armor to air out in the confines of her tent. She stepped out of her tent and settled down next to the fire in between the Cassandra and the Grey Warden, the latter of which was inquiring about Par Vollen from the Iron Bull. She listened intently while serving herself to some dried rabbit and vegetable stew, intentionally taking a smaller portion in the hopes to save enough for the rest of her group. She finished quickly and felt a dip of disappointment in her chest at that discovery, but instead focused on listening to imagery of the foreign nation. Her wooden bowl shrugged in her hand, causing her to glance over and discover Blackwall ladling a scoop of stew into her bowl. She tried to protest to the kindness and Blackwall shook his head, speaking softly to avoid attention to the act. “A hero has to eat, you know..” She stared down at her stew, biting her lip softly, the guilt building up in her eyes. “I’m not a hero..” She whispered to the grey warden, the title of Herald weighing heavy on her. “Everyone else needs this more than I do..” She trailed off before offering the bowl to him. There was a curve in his lips while he corrected her, “You’re not a hero.. yet. But you will be. Now, eat up.” His words ended the conversation and she looked down at the food, licking her lips in hunger.

With her hunger satiated, she rested comfortably by the flames as she listened to Sera describe a noble who’s pants she set on fire during a red jenny excursion, only to have her attention drawn away by a gust of wind that rattled the branches of the forest. Her eyes followed the line of trees bending in the wind and ended upon the sight of a dull blue glow in the distance. She tilted her head in puzzlement, rising to enter the woods barefoot to investigate. A torch of veil fire had been planted along the out line of a dirt clearing, as she reached to examine, flames caught in her peripherals from both sides. She spun on her heels to watch other veil fire torches circling the clearing combust into life and she found Solas standing humbly in the middle of the clearing with a playful curve etched on his lips. “Lethallan, would you care for some magic training?” He inquired, approaching her with gauged steps and she hesitated while looking up to the hidden moon. He stepped before her, offering a hand to lead to the center of the field. “If you don’t mind teaching someone as inexperienced as I am..” She grasped his hand delicately before nodding and he swept the area with her, keeping their hands firmly raised together. He chuckled before releasing her hand, “I have plenty of experience for the two of us.”

They stood side by side and he held an open palm before him, demonstrating how to collect mana from the environment. Amazement held her expression at the sight of magic sparks swarming his hand. “How are you doing that?” her words were breathless, a few stray fireflies of mana drifting against the breeze to graze against her cheek and causing her to shiver at the sensation. “I close my eyes and imagine within my palm here is a seed, ready to germinate. However..” He paused to gingerly raise her palm up towards the sky, “Life needs sustenance. A plant draws from it’s environment for this.” The undercurrent of mana shifted and reveled wisps of roots from underneath his hand entering through him. “We use a connection with the fade for our abilities and when we tap into that power..” He clenched his hand and upon releasing it, blue flames stemmed from the center of his palm. Around them the veil torches sparked as they flared up, rising together until all connected at a point above their heads and cast them in a dome of blue. Ghostly figures shadowed against the ring of veil fire, curiously peering into the circle. “We grow. You, have grown.” 

Lavellan exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding and peered with wonderment over the force of magic around them, still absentmindedly holding up her palm to the sky. She fumbled for words for questions she couldn’t even articulate as the veil flames shrunk low to the torch houses. “I have so many questions..” She mumbled wearily before meeting his eyes, finding them to be bright and playful. Solas chuckled before laying his hand atop her palm, “Perhaps just focus on growing a seedling first.” His words nudged her into a good natured mood. He withdrew his hand away from hers, folding his arms behind him while he paced the clearing. Her eye brows scrunched and she cracked her neck in preparation for what she would imagine to be a struggle. She was silent as she focused in corralling energy in, wandering quires passing before one settled in for good. 

Elven lore had saddled the blame of causing the veil upon Fen’Harel, his act of banishing the gods, the death of Mythal and the reason why Arlathan fell. But before all the betryal, what had the world been like? The wonder gave her pause and the distraction caused a spark of mana to singe her skin. “What about when there was no veil?” Her words unfiltered, as if she were alone and conversing with herself. Solas slowed his gait and he hesitated his next steps, then a curve of a smile was created on to his face. “It has been said that the ancient elves lived with magic as we do with water. It flowed around them, plentiful and as boundless as the sea.” His voice was tinged with sorrow and it concern brewed within her chest. “The creation of the veil disrupted that, creating separate realms and taking this world far from where it once was. What was once accessible to all, now restricted to only a few.” His eyes were stained with sadness yet his face remained unchanged, stoic. He inhaled, forming words in his mouth before he shook his head and dismissed the thought. The silence held them both for moments before he glanced up to her, unaware she had been watching him. He nonchalantly straightened his back before continuing his stride, muscles tight from the conversation. 

“It must’ve been.. wonderful.” She whispered to her fingers, which were now getting cold with the misty air. He was thankful she did not witness the surprise that graced his face over the comment. There was a violet twinkle against her palm which caused her to gasp and she could tell from the warmth in his voice that he was grinning. “Pull from your environment into your hand, let yourself grow.” Her confidence lifted at affirmation, and the tension in her hand relaxed. She closed her eyes and envisioned her palm held rich dark dirt and nestled within was the seed of a flower, ready and willing to begin. The pulse of nature causing the seed to flourish into a sapling, breaking the earth to face the sun above, pulling inward to draw life and exhaling into growth. She nearly clenched her fist at the sight when she opened her eyes.

Her palm held a pulsing golden mana flower, the petals burning bright as the sun and swaying against the wind around them, casting shimmers into the night sky around them. Her breath hitched and she stood enraptured at the creation. “Well done, Lavellan.” Solas peered onward, a smile tucked against the corner of his lips. She beamed over towards Solas, laughing lightly at the creation before inhaling deeply. She slowly blew against the flower and witnessed it’s petals pull from the bud and float away in the breeze before disappearing completely. “We will train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus will be a enjoyable side benefit.” His words were smooth and she felt the tips of her ears go red. “Indomitable focus?” She toyed with him, placing a hand on her hip and tilting her head. He approached each torch with a raised hand, and each extinguished on it’s own. “Presumably, I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be.. fascinating.” 

Her mind echoed the word “dominated” and it tickled her spine, she attempted to hid her growing blush by staring in the opposite direction of him. “Just as you trained to flick a dagger or an arrow to it’s target, you must with magic as well. The grace with which you move is the pleasing side benefit of your training.” His words were punctuated with his idling by the final fire and she glanced up to him, drawing closer with caution. “So, you’re suggesting I’m graceful?” Her head was light as the words slipped out, her heart was beating hard against her ribs at the notion of being considered graceful by him, let alone anyone. “No. I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.” His words were thick with confidence and she swallowed hard.

A male voice called her name from camp, it was followed by incoming footsteps among the dewy grass a distance away. She was jolted from the coquettish nature that surrounded them, whispering a thanks before slipping away towards the calling. She granted one glance over her shoulder to the elf. He held cracks of sorrow along the edge of his mouth but it was gone in an instant as he extinguished the last fire and faded into darkness, but the image remained in her mind.

It matched the look his gaunt face held now, from behind the cold bars of the damp cell he occupied. A haze of crimson circled his head like a crown, his eyes were set a glow in ruby color while eye sockets were sunken and smeared with dirt. She smothered a cry at the vision of him, the stifled noise catching his attention and making him step to the front of his cell to peer out curiously. A single year had passed, she tried to remind herself, a year without her presence had such a drastic effect on the future.

His eyes split open with recognition of her features, “Lavellan?” His voice cracked on the vowels of her name, it was sweet on his tongue and it sent shivers through his bones. Her name had been a mantra for strength while he endured torture and as praise when rain would seep through the cobbled walls of his cell. He returned to memories of nursing her back from the brink, of her compulsion to protect others, of the mage trainings alone with her, of the scent of her hair and the nature of her spirit.

A great desire overwhelmed him and weakness made the concern of a demon posing as her only a minor worry, he would welcome death if it was in the arms of this woman. She rushed forward to the door of the cell and he paralleled, clamoring to clasp their hands together. Murmurings of Elven spoken between them as he shut his eyes, her hands were as soft as flower petals and she still smelled of elfroot. She asked if he was okay, to which he mournfully replied that he was dying slowly. She explained that Dorian and her had been pushed forward in time, and if they could go back the suffering could be reversed. She withdrew and his grasp tightened on her, muttering a request for just a moment longer. Her heart softened at the plea and she punctuated it with a soft kiss on his forehead, feathering the deep wrinkles above his brows with an apology for his suffering. He pulled away and his heart spilled with adoration for her, 

He closed her palm, savoring the texture of her fingers while tucking his wolf’s jaw necklace in her grasp. His shattered smile was the last look he gave to her as he stepped off of the stairs of the alter, leaving her and Dorian to get back to the past. His heart hardened with resolve and determination etched on his features, brows furrowing and his lips pursed as his actions would ensure her safety. 

She opened her hand and crumbled at the sight of the wolf’s jaw necklace, tears falling upon the gift while she traced the tooth with a finger. Her heart called to him as the door to the hall slammed shut and she regretted letting him go. Dorian’s hands swirled with magic as he tried to crack the code to return home, the sounds of fighting drawing dangerously closer with each second. Her fingers stabbed the wolf’s tooth at the sound of Solas’s struggled gasping, followed by the bloodied choking of his death rattle. Iron bull died laughing at his enemies and no doubt gave them struggle before his body fell, his words marked with a sputter as his throat was slit. 

The blast of the door startled her and she watched in horror as demons dragged in the body of the elf and the qunari, both pale and both dead. Blood trickled from her fingers as she looked on at the demons with rage boiling, she gritted her teeth and dropped the necklace to draw her daggers. Her blood laced the teeth of the blade and she felt her spine tingle, the static sensation from her spine spread across her back with a snap and she witnessed a bolt of lightning plant into a distant enemy while her hands sparked. She prepared to jump into the fray until Dorian yanked her away from the thought. His stifled laugh cut all thoughts of her revenge short as the portal swirled with compliance, she couldn’t contain the grin on her face until she realized she was no longer holding Solas’s necklace. She struggled to break away from Dorian, succeeding after accidently elbowing him in the nose. She stretched her body, finger nails grazing against the twine of the necklace just as they were pulled into the vortex of green.

The travel discombobulated her as they were spit back out moments after when they first left. She seized her hand against her heart as she vigorously peered around the room, fearing the demons were encroaching on them by the second. It took the strong grip of Dorian’s hand on her shoulder to ground her but nothing could prevent the trembling in her hands. Dorian was forced to hold his nose as he spoke to Alexius, fearing of a nose bleed dampen the grandeur of the success. The magister relented and accepted his fate gracefully, however Lavellan struggled to understand the events around her, her mind becoming foggy. She could see Solas’s blue eyes from afar, soft and full of concern at her distress, but her thoughts shadowed with fears that they were held by the dead body of the Elven mage.

The decision of what to do with the mages fell upon her, one that would change the direction of the inquisition and possibly the events of the world; and she could barely keep it together in her mind, she chastised herself. She allied fully with the mages without any hesitation and the king said his farewells. She was left wondering when he arrived in the first place, but resolved that her stupor clouded these things for her. A new hand against her shoulder resulted in her spinning on her heels, with daggers drawn in defense as she peered onward to Solas. He raised his hands slightly and he was speaking to her, but the rush of blood against her ears made the words garbled. She couldn’t hear him, no matter how many times she asked him to repeat and this caused panic to only rise in her chest. 

Her eyes were wild as she sheathed her daggers and bolted from the scene, chest pounded so hard she feared it would break her ribs. She dashed around the side of the chantry and climbed up the steep mountain hill behind, counting her steps as she ascended the slope. The heat radiated off of her, feeling as though her blood had been ignited with gatlok powder. As she reached a flat edge of the hill, she scrambled to sit under neath a tree and plant her face against the soothing cold of the snow. She tried to count her heart beats but it was flushed from her eyes as her brain drowned her with images of Solas dead and then back to the faces of the dead at the conclave. She lost herself to her mind’s violent repetition of destruction and all she could do was whisper words of the Mir Da’len Somniar to the snowflakes. 

The afternoon slipped into early evening before she was able to stumble back down the mountains, having collected herself. There was still the fog lingering in her foresight as she ran into Solas, and he held her tight by the arms while he peered down at her with unspoken questions. She didn’t even realize she was crying until he broke his hold to wipe a tear from her cheek. She burst with locked emotion and apologized about the suffering his alter had endured, spilling into how macabre he looked and lastly about how he gave his necklace to her. Solas’s eyes flickered with surprise at the information and he was left blank with words. She then tearfully told him how she dropped it, and how guilty it made her feel. He shook his head, a soft curve in his lips as he pulled her closer. He traced her spine and ran the other hand through her short locks of hair, desperately wanting to end her qualms with a kiss. Finally her trembles subsided and she calmed down enough to pull away from the mage, who was slow to release her. His fingers lingered on her waist while he leaned forward and pressed a kiss into her forehead, and she found that this gesture was more help than any words that could be said to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ara seranna-ma: “Excuse me,”  
> Penshra Ghilas vellathan: politely translated as “I prefer that you remain close”  
> Masal din’an.: a threat, meaning unknown  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> First work I've done in a while. Please let me know if there are errors or suggestions to make anything smoother.


End file.
